


To Be Cassandra's Keeper

by ferer56



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Complete, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:12:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5617906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferer56/pseuds/ferer56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Latula Pyrope had always struggled with her feelings, the delicate balancing act of maintaining her reputation overriding all other concerns. She had always seen this as just a fact of life, the way things had to be. A belief which had always been a source of tension between herself and her prophetic matesprit. Of course that had been before the accident. Before he truly needed her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Cassandra's Keeper

You awoke, not to the peaceful sound of birds singing or crickets chirping but to the half-choked sobbing of your matesprit.

“Hey, hey babe what’s wrong?” You ask trying you’re hardest to hide your concern. He freezes upon hearing the sound of your voice, the sound of weeping naught now but a dull murmur.

“N-nothhing.” He replies with trepidation. He shifts to his side, turning away from you, as if to hide the golden tears streaking down his face. But that wasn’t the part of his reclusive behavior that currently ate away at your aching blood pusher. You had known ever since that first special night betwixt the two of you so many sweeps ago, that he suffered from especially vivid nightmares. That night, much like tonight, you had been awoken to the sound of his pain, the only time you had ever heard him scared, ever sensed from him fragility. Yet the difference between that night and now was that back then he hadn’t tried to hide it, hadn’t been ashamed. Instead he had told you everything, of the whispers in his head, the doom he swore was coming. You had told him you believed him, that he could confide in you. Of course, when the time had come to prove that sentiment more than merely words of comfort...

“Itths fucking true!” Mituna had blurted out, his anger getting the best of him as it was occasionally wont to do, “why won’t any of you believe me?”

Aranea pushed up her glasses, concern written all over her expression. “Mituna,” she began her voice soft and soothing. “Please try to understand, we all earnestly want to help you, we-“

“I’m not crathy! And I’m not the only one who believeths this either, Latula does too!” Mituna interrupted, voice both furious and hopeful.

And with that bombshell suddenly every eye was on you. You could never forget the feeling of so many expectations weighing down on you at once, and to this day you have a difficult time discerning which were more pressuring: Mituna’s obvious desire for you to corroborate his story, or your friends similarly sincerely held belief you not feed into his paranoia. Time seemed to stand still, as you finally had to face the music, and make a choice. You couldn’t satisfy everyone this time, so what would you do? Side with Mituna and stand with him against the world, or side with your friends and risk alienating the only Beforan who could send your bloodpusher in a tizzy with the simplest of glances? You didn’t have much time to ponder, as Cronus broke the silence.

“Oh, for fucks sake Latula, don’t tell me you’ve gone and drank Mituna’s Trool-Aid just because your matesprits now.” The violet-blood spat, his angry voice once directed at Mituna now cast upon yourself. You felt the pressure ratchet up, as if by Ampora’s will a time limit had been put into effect. You wanted so desperately to escape, to run and never stop.

Yet, instead you spoke, resigning yourself to fate.

The words themselves didn’t matter, and you had long forgotten them. What mattered was the look on Mituna’s face. A look you had never seen on him before or since. A look of such incredible anguish and despair that it was all you could do to look him in the face, sure that beneath his matte of hair, tear-filled eyes stared back. It was the least you could do for him, to accept his disillusionment with resignation. For the longest time he held your gaze, his fists slowly clenching, as if realizing your truth. You wanted so badly to take back what you had said, to hold him close, anything to wipe away the pain your distrust had caused. If only you hadn’t tried to comfort him, had shut your stupid mouth, you would never have had to choose. And Mituna would not have had to _see_ you. You tried to approach him, composure beginning to crack.

“Baby.” You cooed, “Please….”

“Leave me alone!” He screamed, before running from your embrace, golden tears streaming down his face. You had almost gone after him, to explain yourself, to try to make him understand your situation. But before you’d moved a muscle you felt Aranea’s fingers on your shoulder, and her whisper in your ear.

“Let him go for now Latula, right now it would probably be best for him to be alone.” She stated sadly, “you cannot keep adding fuel to his fire; otherwise it will never burn itself out.” You simply nodded your affirmation, as if his well-being had been forefront of your mind.

You had wanted to ask her, if you had done the right thing then why did you feel so wrong? Of course you would have never opened up like that to Aranea. So instead you did what you always did when your veneer was at risk of crumbling away: you bolted.

You didn’t want a soul to see you like this, to see you without your mask. Unlike Mituna, who had managed to open up himself to you, simply becoming matesprits was not a strong enough force to change that about yourself. You kept him at arm’s length despite your affection for him, afraid something like this might happen. Your reasons were selfish, they nearly always were. Though it pained you to even think it, you didn’t want to risk being ostracized like you knew Mituna was being. You had a reputation, everyone looked up to you. You were perhaps the coolest Beforan around. And it had not been easy to learn the tricks that so often earned their praise and adulation, had not been easy to lock away your true feelings and emotions so others would find you ‘rad’. You wanted to be liked, wanted to be popular, because for so long you were not, and it hurt. It hurt not being admired or respected.

If only Mituna could understand that, if you could just explain it to him so he wouldn’t be so upset with you. You had once thought that despite your shallow desires, that deep down you wanted something more than simple applause and acclaim. Yet now you knew the truth. Now you knew what really mattered in your life, and as much as it tore away at you, as much as it rent your soul in two…

It was not Mituna.

Things were tense between you two for a while after that, but eventually you got back together. You went back to doing the things you had always done, gnarly tricks on skateboards, getting high scores on the hardest of games. Yet despite the appearance of normality, you knew things were very different between the two of you. Since once again sharing quadrants you hadn’t heard even the faintest hint of the visions that surely kept plaguing him, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of trying once again to truly trust you.

Well, you hadn’t until now, when by the merest chance you had awoken. You didn’t want to think of how many times perhaps Mituna had woken up alone, the darkness his only comfort. You wrapped your arms around his slight shoulders, pulling him close. Despite himself he didn’t protest, light sniffles his only reply. You wanted so desperately to protect him, to keep him safe. You felt his hair against your cheek, the feeling slightly ticklish. You felt his slight breaths against your form, his mere presence reassuring. For a time you just held him, the only comfort he now trusted you to provide.

Or so you thought.

“Latula,” He begins, his voice a quiet murmur.

“Yes, my Tuna?” His voice seemed to catch, as if unsure of himself.

“D-do you think I’m crathy?” He asks, voice demure and wavering under the weight of his many insecurities.

Your breath catches in your throat. You had to be diplomatic, otherwise you’d set him off again, like you had that fateful day so long ago.

“No baby.” You respond simply, fingers running through his cluttered mess of hair. He was quiet for a time, faintly moaning as you caressed him.

“Then why won’t you believe me?”

“Mituna…” You respond lamely, wishing you knew the magic words that would soothe his tortured spirit. He sighed, his voice more tremulous as he spoke anew.

“Thereth's no reason to even mention thith again, you don’t believth me like everyone elthse.”

You tried to see if perhaps you could deflect the stinging accusation, afraid of where such pointed barbs might lead. “How often have you been waking up like this?”

He stiffens in your embrace, as if the very question unnerves him. You wait some time for him, knowing he was debating on whether or not he should lie. Eventually though, he shrugs his shoulders, his voice following soon after. “A lot rethently…” As frightening as his solemn declaration is, you couldn’t help but feel your spirits raise a little. For the first time in sweeps he had hinted at the real problems swirling like a maelstrom within his mind. He was considering letting you back in, despite how undeserving you were. You clutched him tighter to your bosom, afraid the moment might end, that somehow yet again you’d fuck it up. Instead, Mituna continued, though you couldn’t tell if it was because he was willing to trust you again, or because he just needed a soundboard for the thoughts slowly driving him insane. “Ith’s getting worths, ith’s so clottthes now. I can’t thleep becauthe it showths me things, awful things...I’m tho thcared Latula… What if it hurthhs you? I couldn’t live with mythelf if thomething were to happen to you.”

“Shhhhh, I’m not going anywhere Mituna.” Your answer seems to upset him, as he begins breathing more heavily; hyperventilating. You grasp his hand, squeezing it tightly, which seems to calm him somewhat. “Try to chillaxe with me, ok babe? I couldn’t possibly leave just yet, I haven’t even taught you how to do a proper handstand yet have I?” You ask, trying a different tack.

He giggles softly, shaking his head. “No, I gueth not.”

You kiss the nape of his neck, so very glad he’s given you the chance to ease his pain. To really feel like his matesprit once again. “See? I would be a seriously lame-ass bitch to leave you hanging like that wouldn’t I?”

“Lamer than Cronuth.” He teases, turning back to face you, some of his old color coming back.

You jab his shoulder playfully.“C’mon now, I’d never be that uncool.”

“I don’t know about thattttt.” He snarkily replies, tongue snaking out from between his fangs to taunt you. Before he can react your on him, pinning him to the floor. He looks so cute below you, the hint of fangs emerging from taut lips. You lean down to kiss him, feeling his breath against your own before your lips crash together. You feel his fingers glide along your hips, and you moan aloud as sharp claws dig into tender grubscars. Your body catches fire at his touch, and your tongue returns the favor as it savors every last drop of his honey flavored lips. After an eternity of intoxicating kisses, you pull back slowly from him, the teal heating your face now impossible to hide. You sweep aside his hair, revealing those adorable yellow eyes staring deeply into your own. You smirk, as a particularly naughty thought hits you.

“I can prove to you I’d never be that lame,” you moan huskily as you gently nibble on his earlobes. You can feel his blush against your face, his heartbeat syncing with your own. “After all,” you muse, “rails aren’t the only things I’ve learned to grind...” You whisper sensually into his ear, your hips beginning to buck. You hear his breath catch yet again that night, the sound music to your ears. Soon whatever inkling he had of rational thought fades away as pleasure overtakes him. You wrap him in a cocoon of sheer bliss, and for the briefest while you steal his pain away, and everything is right in the world.

…

You fall off him, exhausted. You don’t even bother cleaning up, too enamored with the bubbly feeling radiating from your core. You feel his arms wrap around you, as this time he pulls you close to him. “Latula,” he rasps. “No matter what happenth… I will protect youuuu.” His voice trails off as sleep steals over him. You pull his arms tighter around you, snuggling up against his sleeping body. You close your eyes, exhaustion rapidly overtaking you, but not before you can reply.

“And no matter what happens Mituna, I will never leave your side.” You respond, surprising yourself with the conviction in your voice. You swear you hear a grunt of affirmation before the darkness comes.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

You awake with a start, the noise deafening.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

“Fuck! I’m COMING!” You shout over the din, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You noticed that Mituna had left, a detail which unnerved you. You hastily throw on a t-shirt and shorts, nearly tripping over the concupiscent platform in the process. Finally, you throw open the door, prepared to really ream into whoever it was who had decided to disturb you at this ungodly hour. The string of insults you had so lovingly prepared die in your throat, as the forlorn visage of Kurloz Makara bores into your soul. He’s crying, purple tears rolling down gaunt ashen cheeks.

“W-whats going on?” You sputter, fully awake now with a rising sense of disquiet looming in the darkness of your psyche. Kurloz merely walks away, beckoning for you to follow. Once you leave your hive, his walk quickly shifts into a sprint, and it’s difficult to keep up with him despite your physique. Your sense of foreboding only grows with every step you take, until by the time you race up the hill after him you’re in a full blown panic. Kurloz stops at the top, pointing down the hill. You soon catch up with him, thousands of horrid thoughts currently vying for your attention. Yet not even together can the horrid amalgamation your mind concocted prepare you for the sight just over the horizon.

Golden tears and mustard blood are splayed all along the hillside, the ebbing sun casting the sheer overwhelming violence of the scene in stark relief. Yet that’s not what holds your gaze. There’s a small huddled form writhing and screaming at the base of the hill.

Your blood-pusher stops

You’re not sure it will ever start again.

You turn to Kurloz, who is eyeing you with sorrow.

“A-aranea you manage to choke out, he simply nods in reply before his lanky legs send him rocketing away with impossibly long strides. You don’t notice, too busy racing down the hill towards the distant form of your fallen matesprit. In between the cries of pain, you notice he seems to be shouting the same thing over and over again.

As you approach his battered body, it dawns on you it’s your name he’s been repeating

““La-LA-TULAAAAA,” He sobs, his body jerking every which way as if caught in the midst of some awful seizure. You fall down beside him, noticing up close the true extent of his injuries. The bangs that had once hidden his eyes and nose were burnt away, and in their stead a horrid criss-crossing of red and blue scars had been seared into his forehead. You can feel the heat emanating from his brow, like something had tried to cook him from the inside out. His eyes flit every which way, as if trying to escape his head.

“Bla…La-Lat…LAT-T-T-T” He begins, seemingly more and more frustrated with his every failed attempt to put his thoughts into coherent words. Your mind focuses again on him and not just his injuries, a feeling of shame drawing over you having ignored his hysterical pleadings for even a second. “Shhh babe, it’s me, Latula. S’ok everything’s gonna be just rad.”

He doesn’t respond, well at least with words you can understand. Nonsense syllables, and letter strings come pouring out of his mouth. You can swear you hear fragments of your name in the slurry, as if he doesn’t know your there. You feel yourself choke as the tears come.

“Rad,” you repeat trying your hardest to sound reassuring, “everythings gonna… gonna be... just rad.”

You reach for his arms, sleeveless and exposed. You would normally have tried to comfort him by caressing his face, but given the severity of his injuries you reconsider. Your fingers graze against his skin, the closest thing to comfort you can provide.

He shrieks in obvious distress, “HURTHS! HURKTHHH!” Before you can react, he haphazardly swats away your arm and screams: “Gek o-FF m-MEH BTITCH!”

You can’t hide the despondent shock that steals over your face. And in that instant, you swear he sees you, maybe for the first time since you’ve been there.

“Nho,” he starts, as amber tears and yellow blood start streaking from his eyes. “Th- I Tho-bhorRRy, THORRY!” He repeats the word he’s finally stated like a record that won’t stop skipping, as if having remembered how to say the term he’s afraid to let it go, his gestures becoming more and more frantic with every stuttering iteration.

“No,” you state more to yourself than to him. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” He quiets at the sound of your voice, surprising you. Your surprise turns into the faintest glimmer of hope. You know you’ve reached him with that meagre display of awareness.

He knows your there.

You breathe the slightest sigh of relief.

“D-danT Go.” He mutters softly, as if the mere struggle of trying to be coherent is too difficult for him to express with any kind of conviction, “PleaTH, d-DUnt.”

“Shhhh s’ok babe, I’m going to stay right here at your side where I belong.” You can almost see the slightest sign of a smile on his lips. You smile back. You are surprised when his brow furrows in concentration, as if deep in thought remembering some important thing that couldn’t possibly be forgotten.

“Mituna, shhh you need your rest. You can tell me tomorrow.”

“F-irthst go-gotta thay… halvta th-THAY…” You notice the air crackling around him, faint sparks emanating from his eyes, not knowing then that those were the last vestiges of his formidable psionic powers roaring to the fore. He bolts upright, his eyes staring into yours. “I p-pro, FRo…PROTECTED yeuw, La-LA-TUlip.” He finishes with conviction, before suddenly falling backwards into unconsciousness, as if the only reason he had kept himself awake was to relay that one last desperate message. You reach out and gently pick him up, laying his head gingerly upon your lap. He doesn’t lash out at you, his only response now the slightest of moans. You stroke his hair, enjoying the feel of him between your fingers.

“And now Tulip’s going to protect you, honeybee,” you whisper. You hear voices fast approaching, voices of shock, voices of concern, but you ignored them for the moment.

This was your chance to make it up to him. For all the times you had left him out to dry, ignored his warnings like everyone else, all for the sake of your precious vanity and ego. You felt something deeper inside you, something beyond the shallow displays of coolness that had for so long dominated your life. The reddest of feelings for this black haired savant whom you were sure had given up everything to save you. And you knew without a shadow of a doubt you would do the same for him.


End file.
